On the following day, after tending to the wounded and other team members, Avi and Rafe made their way to the arena where the upcoming competition was set to unfold.

Though dubbed an arena, it was little more than a vast circle fashioned from stacked stones. Surrounding this circle were seats for spectators and cages for the "beasts."

The outer wall of the arena, crafted from squared marble, bore intricate depictions of the White Wolf God's legends. Despite the weathered marks, remnants of the masons' initial artistry still lingered.

Within the arena lay stout, ordinary stones. Each hefty block, hauled from the quarry by a collaboration of several dozen horses, formed the wall's encircling shape, creating a battleground within.

The fervent belief in the White Wolf God, led by Miden, ensured a monthly gathering of townsfolk for a beast-fighting competition. Alongside mercenaries seeking additional earnings, many soldiers from the provincial army also enlisted to compete.

"It appears this championship won't be easily claimed..." Avi mused to himself, "Despite my enhancements in charisma and intelligence, I'm certainly no match for Rafe in solo combat. If only one of us can compete, it should be Rafe."

"Boss, there's no shortage of fighters here. I can't wait to test my skills against them!" In contrast to Avi's cautious musings, Rafe appeared eager, already rubbing his fists in anticipation.

Due to Midenstein's lack of prosperity, only fifty or sixty teams had registered. It didn't take long before they reached the imperial captain in charge of registration.

"What are your names?" the captain asked, feather pen poised.

"Um, well..." Avi scratched his cheek awkwardly, "We're outsiders, participating in this beast-fighting competition for the first time. Could we..."

"Outsiders?" The captain lifted his head, sharp eyes assessing Avi and Rafe, "You sound like you're from Miden. Haven't you heard of the true sword fighting of the White Wolf God, Yurick?"

"True sword fighting?" Rafe was surprised, "Boss, do we have to fight with real weapons?"

"Not exactly. In reality, it's merely fighting with wooden sticks shaped like weapons, akin to military training," the captain glanced at Rafe, then at Avi. "Are you two together?"

"We signed up together," Avi said, "Is there a team competition?"

"No, today it's just hand-to-hand combat."

"Understood." Avi suppressed the derogatory term 'country bumpkin' and inquired, "Could you provide more details about the competition...?"

Before the captain could respond, the people waiting in line behind them began to grumble. Several mercenaries with stern faces purposely made noise with their weapons, subtly threatening.

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"I won't waste time educating country bumpkins." The captain's patience wore thin, not just with those causing trouble, but in general. He slammed the table and addressed Avi, "If you want to participate, state your name. If not, go back to farming. Clear, country bumpkin?"

"Having one more person slightly increases our odds," Avi thought. Even if luck alone could secure a prize, it wouldn't hurt to try. Besides, promoting his mercenary group through this competition would be beneficial.

However... it's best not to reveal he's the leader. After all, his combat prowess is questionable. What if he gets defeated immediately upon entering the arena? That would tarnish his reputation.

"Avi, representing the Cheating Mercenary Group."

The captain's quill swiftly scrawled a few lines on the paper before Avi could discern what was written, and he was promptly escorted away by a nearby guard.

"Next."

"I'm Rafe, and the man earlier is our boss. We're all from the Cheating Mercenary Group."

Shortly thereafter, Avi, still nursing resentment towards Rafe, found himself standing alongside him on the fringes of the arena, listening intently as the stern imperial captain elucidated the rules of engagement.

"Each of you may select one weapon from swords, staffs, bows, daggers, shields, and greatswords. But before that, shed your equipment and procure a piece of cloth from the ground to maintain your... modesty!"

While some complied by stripping off their gear and garments, a vocal minority protested against the decree that barred them from entering fully equipped.

"If not for the presence of ladies, I wouldn't leave a shred of cloth for you lot!" The imperial captain's hand slammed down on the table, his voice rising in command, "Adhere to the rules or depart!"

Beneath his quivering white beard, all contestants acquiesced. Before long, fifty-eight scantily clad men stood within the arena, eliciting a mix of cheers and jeers from the encircling crowd.

Soldiers, wielding an assortment of wooden weapons, circulated among the participants, affording them the opportunity to select their preferred armament. Avi opted for a shield for protection. However, when he reached for a one-handed sword, the soldier doling out equipment bypassed him.

"What's the meaning of this? Am I confined to this weathered shield?" Avi's incredulity deepened as he scrutinized the worn leather shield in his grasp, casting a shadow of doubt over his existence.

A glance at Rafe's meticulously crafted greatsword nearby only intensified his skepticism.

What could he hope to achieve with a mere shield?

Consulting his panel swiftly, Avi discovered the shield was labeled 'Worn Beastskin Shield,' neither valuable nor practical.

More troubling still, he lacked the knowledge of wielding a shield as a weapon. In Avi's mind, shields constituted a component of armor, intended solely for defense.

Followers of the White Wolf God, Yurick, in Miden, extolled the virtues of courage and fervor, regarding users of shields and ranged weapons with disdain. Thus, the peculiar rule was established here that 'those who opted for shields may only wield shields.'

Had Avi elevated his knowledge skill to level two, he might have acquired this insight, but alas, he had not.

It was a tale fraught with misfortune.

BANG!

A soldier stationed atop a platform discharged a musket into the air, signaling the commencement of the competition. Immediately, the fifty-eight contestants began swinging their weapons at those in close proximity, plunging the contest into fervent chaos from the outset.

A handful of unfortunate souls who had opted for bows and arrows were swiftly incapacitated before they could even draw their weapons, becoming the first casualties. As for those who had chosen shields and were perceived as craven, they were relegated to the sidelines.

Meanwhile, burly men, champions of courage and close combat, brandished their greatswords and long staffs, engaging in ferocious duels at the arena's center, their battle cries reverberating.

"Yurick, Yurick, Yurick—!"

The audience fervently cheered for the name of the White Wolf God, buoying the combatants in the arena's center and heightening the fervor of the melee.

Avi, clutching his small round shield, nestled in a corner of the arena, silently observing the frenzied combatants, gradually formulating a strategy to seize the championship.